


Finding What's Right

by flipflop_diva



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Double Penetration, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Multi, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Sam Wilson, Protective Steve Rogers, Rescue Missions, Slow Build, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: Before the Accords were ever a thing, Steve, Sam and Nat were happy. Or at least Natasha thought they were happy. And then they were gone and she was alone, and everything she ever knew changed once again. Because this time Bucky was the one with Steve and Sam, and she was the one left out in the cold.





	Finding What's Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/gifts).



> Written for Lorax for the 2018 Holly Poly fest. 
> 
> This took on a bit of a life of its own. I had the first scene in my head and I couldn't get rid of it. And then somehow everything else happened. I hope you enjoy!

Natasha was cold. So cold. 

It was hard to remember the last time she was warm. The last time she was safe. The last time she wasn’t alone.

She closed her eyes, tried to remember how it felt.

Steve’s arms around her. Her cheek resting against his chest. 

“My personal heater,” she used to call him.

Sam behind her, wrapped around them both.

Stuck between the two.

No where to move, no chance to escape.

Warm.

Safe.

It wasn’t warm here. It wasn’t safe here. 

She couldn’t remember being this cold. Had she ever been? She knew she must … back when she was a girl, when she was still small.

Back in freezing winters. Being left out in the snow. Fighting to get back to the Red Room alive.

Natasha wrapped her arms around herself.

Something wasn’t right. Hadn’t been right for a while now.

She was too cold. Too frozen.

She couldn’t think clearly.

She had to leave. Get away. They were coming.

They would find her.

They would kill her.

She wouldn’t see her boys again.

No Steve. No Sam.

She shivered, wrapped herself even tighter.

Everything ached. Her limbs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t escape, couldn’t yell.

There was no one to save her. No one to help.

She had to save herself.

She tried to move. To run.

Too cold.

It was too cold.

She heard the noise. Footsteps approaching. But it was too late. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t run.

They were on top of her. Grabbing her. Lifting her.

She tried to scream. Tried to fight. To kick. To hit.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t utter a word.

Cold.

It was too cold.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and let it end.

•••

They were drugging her. That much was clear. Some days less, some days more.

Today was a less day. She could think. Just a little.

It hurt. Like there was a jigsaw puzzle in her head she couldn’t quite put together. 

She kept seeing them. In front of her. Talking to her.

Steve with his perfect smile and perfect words, telling her to hold on.

Sam with his goofy grin, smirking at her, telling her they were coming.

She blinked, tried to focus, to grasp on to what she did remember.

She had run. After talking to Tony at the hospital. Changed her hair, changed her clothes, gone into hiding.

Never stop running. That’s all she knew.

So she ran.

She hadn’t known where they were. 

Where they are. 

Steve. 

Sam. 

Her boys.

Her captors, they asked about them. Over and over. Asked her where they were. 

She was so cold. Everything hurt. Ached. Things were broken. Ribs. A leg maybe.

She remembered screaming. Her screaming.

She didn’t tell them. Her captors. She didn’t tell them where they were. Steve and Sam.

She told the truth. She didn’t know. They didn’t believe her.

They weren’t going to stop. They were going to torture her till she died. Or lied. But she wouldn’t lead them to Steve and Sam. Even if it were a lie.

Her head was spinning again. Thoughts floating away.

She tried to think.

Escape.

There had to be some way to escape.

Had to be.

She saw their faces in front of her. Steve’s smile. Sam’s twinkling eyes.

She reached out for them.

Something grabbed her. Poked. Pulled. Ached.

She screamed.

The memories faded away.

•••

She was seeing them more and more often. Always next to her, or beside her, or across the room. She could see their smiles but she couldn’t hear their voices anymore. And when she touched them, there was nothing there.

Hallucinations, she told herself when the drugs were wearing off and the pain was settling in. Memories of another time.

Other times, they seemed too real. Too close. She ached to touch them, to have them touch her. 

“Find me,” she whispered, and only her captors laughed.

She was getting tired. So tired. She could barely keep her eyes open. Days, nights, weeks. None of it meant anything anymore. She knew of nothing. Except cold and pain and tiredness.

Her captors kept asking, wanting to know. She didn’t know where they were. She saw them, there in front of her, but she didn’t know more than that.

She was cold. Shivering again. 

She fought to keep her eyes open.

Escape, her brain shouted. But she was so tired. Too tired.

Something moved. She heard the sound. She tried to open her eyes.

Steve.

He was there again, in front of her. He was talking to her, like he always did. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she saw his lips moving, saw the way he was looking at her.

Sam was there, too. Behind Steve. He looked sad. Not happy like the other times.

“Find me,” she tried to say, but no sound came out of her mouth.

“We’ve got you,” Steve whispered, and she heard him this time. Something grabbed her. Hands around her. Lifting her.

She braced, waited for the pain.

Something warm. Around her, against her.

She looked up.

Steve. Still there, still looking at her.

“Find me,” she tried again.

“We’ve got you,” Steve repeated.

She waited for him to fade. Waited for the pain. Waited for the fog in her mind to clear.

She was moving. Everything hurt. Her leg. Her shoulder. Her ribs. But she was warm. Not cold. Just warm.

Warm.

Tired.

Warm.

She lifted her hand, moved it toward where she saw Steve.

She hit something solid. Prickly. Soft.

She blinked.

Steve’s face changed. He had a beard. He looked tired, worn out.

She blinked again, moved her fingers again, waited for the pain.

“Steve?” she whispered, and this time she thought she succeeded in speaking. Her throat hurt a little.

The moving stopped. Steve looked down. Her fingers still in the beard.

It wasn’t possible.

“Real?” she whispered.

She tried to think, to understand.

Something touched her forehead.

Soft, gentle.

She looked to the side. 

Sam.

He was touching her.

“We’re real,” he said. “We’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

“Real,” she repeated, but nothing made sense.

She closed her eyes, tangled her fingers into Steve’s beard, felt exhaustion overcome her and hoped this image wasn’t gone when she woke up.

•••

Natasha woke up to the sound of beeping. Low. Steady. Monotonous.

A heartbeat.

 _Her_ heartbeat.

She took a moment, before opening her eyes, to assess the situation.

She was lying on something soft. Something warm. She was warm. Blankets and beddings. She could feel the tiny sting of needles in her arms, of tape attaching wires to her body.

She was in a hospital. That much was clear.

She focused on each of her limbs, as discreetly as she could. There was something heavy on her left leg, something wrapped around her right arm. A cast on the former, a brace on the latter.

She listened. She could hear breathing that wasn’t hers. Deep, even.

Familiar.

She opened her eyes.

“Hi, sleeping beauty.”

Steve was gazing at her. His blue eyes so close to hers, so intense. He had that same beard she’d seen in her hallucination.

It hadn’t been a hallucination.

“Hi,” she managed. Her voice was breathier than normal, hoarser than normal.

“Everyone’s been pretty worried about you,” Steve said. His voice was soft, gentle.

She looked him over. She’d never seen him dressed like that before. Cargo pants and a sweatshirt. He looked more tired now that she could see him clearly than he did when she thought she was imagining him.

She looked past him, at the white sterile walls of the small room. At the machines beeping quietly all around her.

Steve saw her looking.

“Wakanda,” he said.

That explained where he had been. She probably should have known. But then, the last she had known of T’Challa, he was selling her out to the government who wanted to lock her up.

An hour after Tony had informed her they were going to come after her, she had dyed her hair blonde and was on the run. She hadn’t stopped running since. Old safehouses, rundown motels, cheap hostels. Her last stop was an abandoned house in Kiev. She’d hoped the people who were looking for her wouldn’t think she’d gone anywhere near there.

She’d obviously been wrong.

She should have known they were on to her. She hadn’t felt right since she arrived. Colder than normal. Less energy. She’d thought it was from never stopping.

It was stupid. And reckless. And had almost gotten her killed.

She sucked in a tiny breath as she thought about it. Steve’s eyes hadn’t left hers since she had opened them.

“How?” she said, and she knew he would know what she was asking.

He smiled at that, reached under her blanket for her hand. She let him take it. He was so warm. He always had been.

She tried not to think about _before_ , but it was there, in his eyes, in the way he was looking at her. They hadn’t even been anything special, except friends. Not really anyway.

It had been on a whim, the first time. She had never done anything before then without planning it out carefully, without thinking it through, but she had felt like she was falling, losing control. SHIELD was gone, Fury had lied to her, the Winter Soldier had shot her _again_ , and Steve had been there, protecting her from Hydra, holding her upright after she was shot. 

She had gone to him, in the middle of the night, found him with Sam. “I’ll let you be,” she had started to say, but they hadn’t let her finish. They held out their hands, pulled her in with them, and she had gone willingly. All three of them together that night, finding an escape from their worlds that were falling apart.

It happened with all three of them again when Steve was out of the hospital. Then again and again and again.

They fell in love — or at least two of them did. Steve and Sam. She watched it happened, kept her distance emotionally. It was safer that way, she reminded herself. She joined them in bed on some nights, but that was all it was. Physical release.

But then the way they looked at her changed. More tender. More caring. And she knew what was happening.

She stopped visiting them at night. Started flirting with Bruce instead. Convinced herself that if she could be in love with Bruce, then Steve and Sam would stop wanting her. But he left and she felt nothing, and Steve and Sam were the only ones she wanted to spend her nights with.

They didn’t ask questions, just let her come back to them like nothing had happened, and more times than not, it was the three of them tangled together come morning all those weeks and months they lived at the new Avengers base.

Until Steve had gone after Bucky. Until Sam had gone with him. Until they had left her behind. 

Until she had to run.

And only then, lying on a hard bed in a safehouse that looked like it was going to fall apart any second, did she realize how compromised she had let herself get. She cared about them. She cared for them. And in the end, it had almost gotten her killed.

She tried to focus on what Steve was telling her now, how they found her.

“Tony,” Steve said.

She frowned. “That’s not possible.”

“Your widow’s bites,” he continued. “You had them with you.”

“I never used them.”

“You didn’t,” Steve said.

But her captors had. And Tony had known.

“He was tracking me,” she said.

“He knew you wouldn’t use them unless you were ready to come in. Or you were in trouble.” Steve squeezed her hand. “He called me. We found you.”

She tried to smile, tried to feel grateful. She had wanted them to come. She had needed them to come. But Steve wouldn’t understand. It was just one more thing she failed at, needing Tony of all people to help her out of trouble.

“Thank you,” she made herself say.

“We’ll always find you.” For a moment, something flashed over his face. She wondered if he could read what she was thinking. But then he smiled ruefully, his eyes sadder than a moment ago. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

And, no, he didn’t understand. He was just burdened with his own needless guilt.

“Not your fault.”

“Yeah,” he said, but she knew he didn’t believe her.

“Hey.”

She looked away from Steve, already feeling a real smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the familiar voice coming from the doorway. Sam stood there, grinning from ear to ear.

“I heard someone decided to wake up.”

“Yeah, she heard you offered to make her breakfast in bed.” Steve grinned, and he seemed okay again, and Sam smirked, walking over to the bed. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

“You’re looking better,” he told her. “You had us worried.”

“You did,” came another voice from the doorway, and this time Natasha felt all the air in her lungs drain out.

She didn’t hear anything else, had no idea what Sam and Steve were chuckling at. Just stared as the Winter Soldier — Bucky — came toward her. 

Came toward Steve.

Put his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

She felt the weight of Steve’s hand on hers disappear, saw him hold Bucky’s hand with it instead. She saw Sam move closer to the two of them.

They were talking. Cryo-freeze. Triggers. Doctors. Healed.

None of that made sense. 

Only one thing made sense.

The way they were standing, the way they were looking at each other. All three of them.

Together. They were together.

Whatever she had once been to them, she had been replaced. By the man Steve had always loved.

She felt something inside her she didn’t even know had been there shatter into small pieces. And she almost wished she could be back with her captors.

•••

Natasha’s recovery was a lot slower than she would have liked. And more painful than most of her recoveries had ever been. It frustrated her to no end. Pain wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a mild annoyance to her. She felt like she was losing her edge, her skills. Losing what made her her.

It also frustrated her because her injured leg made it impossible to escape — from Wakanda, from her thoughts, from Steve’s constant hovering and worrying. Always asking her if she needed anything, if he could get her something, and all she wanted was to get away. To spar with someone. To train. To bury herself in having something to _do_ so she could stop thinking. Stop caring. Stop noticing the three men almost constantly attached at the hip.

She wasn’t supposed to care if they were together. She was supposed to be happy for them. That’s what friends did. Real friends. She wanted to have friends, right?

But yet she cared. And it bothered her. And she couldn’t escape.

So she avoided them the only way she knew how. Spending a lot of time in her room, reading books that T’Challa had lent her. Pretending she was tired and needed to sleep whenever Steve or Sam wanted to spend time with her. She knew they didn’t completely buy it, but they respected her enough to leave her alone, and that was what mattered.

She was going to have to figure out a way to live on her own again — no team, no friends, definitely no friends with benefits — so she might as well start on it now.

She was curled up on a bench outside in T’challa’s palace courtyard, pretending to read but really letting her thoughts wonder — remembering those days back in Sam’s apartment when she would sneak into bed beside Steve, draping herself on top of him just because she knew it bothered him when she did that — when the bench beside her dipped just a little.

She flinched just a bit at being surprised. Then flinched again when she realized who was sitting beside her. They had barely spoken more than ten words to each other since she had woken up.

“Do you need something?” she said, when it didn’t seem like he was going to speak at all.

Bucky stared at her, his expression blank. She thought he might be the only one who was equal to her in not giving any emotions away. “Are you just going to avoid them forever?”

She didn’t react. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Bucky leaned back, stretched out his legs a little. His metal arm was in his lap, his flesh one folded on top of it. “He told me about you, you know. About the three of you.”

“And what exactly did he tell you?” She kept her voice as even as she could, careful not to let anything slip. “That we’re teammates? Avengers?”

“Fuck buddies.” Bucky turned to look at her, his eyes boring into hers. “That’s not what he called it though.”

She kept her eyes on him, careful not to make a move, to not even alter her pace of breath. “Really, do you want something?”

“He misses you.” Bucky was talking like she hadn’t even spoken. He looked away from her, stretching his arms above his head. She had an urge to kick him — but it would probably just make her leg worse.

“I’m right here.”

“Except you’re really not.” He stretched out a leg this time. She narrowed her eyes at him, wished she had her widow’s bite. “The thing is, you miss him too.”

She didn’t bother to correct him. It wasn’t like it was going to make a difference to him anyway. 

“But instead of admitting it, you’re going to be stubborn and selfish and hide away.”

That stung. She clenched her hands into fists to restrain the urge to punch him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she practically hissed. So much for being nonchalant.

He turned back to her, and this time his stare was even more intense, if that were possible, like he was seeing deep inside her. It was unnerving.

“Besides,” she added, “he has you and Sam. So what does it matter?”

Bucky was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, his tone was kinder than it had been since he sat down. “Do you think he can only care about two people at once? You’re out, I’m in?” 

She didn’t answer. She stared straight at him, daring him to look away first. Her nails dug just a tiny bit harder into her palms, though. The only way to keep her hands from shaking. He didn’t know what he was talking about.

As she watched him, she saw him tilt his head, study her more closely. She felt a little like she was on display, but she wasn’t going to get up and walk away, even if she desperately wanted to.

“Oh,” he finally said. “I see. You just think he can’t love _you_.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” What she had said just minutes before, but with so much less intensity this time. She hated herself for feeling so stung by his words.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like? Fucking at night for the release. And then it becomes familiar. And then you realize it’s become something else.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky stood up. “You know I do.”

“He has you and Sam.”

“There’s always room for one more.”

He walked away. She punched the back of the bench, her fingers cramping in pain.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wanted to cry.

•••

Sam started helping her with her physical therapy. She thought it was an excuse for him to spend time with her, and part of her wanted to tell him no, T’Challa had doctors that would do just fine, but she found she kind of liked it. It wasn’t nights on the couch, sharing popcorn and making fun of bad reality TV, but it was something.

Except she felt like she was getting worse when she was supposed to be getting better, and she pounded the ground in frustration with her fist after she fell for the second time when she was supposed to be walking without help.

“Hey.” Sam dropped down beside her, his hands on her forearms. “They broke your leg in five places, Natasha. It’s going to take time.”

“It’s not supposed to,” she snapped, and she would have pounded the ground again if he weren’t holding her arms.

He didn’t let go. She glowered at him. He didn’t seem fazed.

“You want to talk about it?” he said quietly. “What happened?”

“No.” She stared coolly at him. “Besides, I don’t really remember any of it.”

It was a lie. She knew he knew that. She didn’t care.

“Okay.”

He put his hands under her armpits, helped tug her back upright to a standing position, her leg feeling as if it were on fire. But he didn’t let go of her once she was stable. Instead, one hand carefully reached up to push a stray lock of blonde hair back behind her ear.

“We missed you,” he said quietly. “The whole time. It was never right without you here.”

“Seems you traded up quite fine, though.” The words were harsher than she intended. But she didn’t flinch, even when Sam did.

“That’s what you think?” He sounded as hurt as he looked.

She ignored it. “I know what I see. You all look very happy.”

“You could be very happy with us.”

“You don’t need me.”

“We love you.”

That caught her off-guard. She wobbled slightly, staring at him. He had never said that to her before. Steve had never said that to her. Neither of them had ever said that to her before.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. She stepped backward, on to her good leg, pulling herself out of Sam’s grip. Her injured leg almost buckled with the pain, but she managed to remain standing.

“Please don’t say that,” she forced out, and she was proud she kept her voice from wobbling. All those years of training still paying off.

He looked like he wanted to say more, maybe argue with her. Instead he took a step away from her, stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll go see if one of the doctors can help you finish up here.”

“Yeah,” she said, and she couldn’t help but turn away from him. “That would be good.”

•••

She dreamed that night, about the days before the Accords, tangled in sheets in Steve’s bed, laughing at Sam’s jokes, watching old movies Steve had missed when he was frozen. She dreamed about going to sleep, tucked between them both, their arms draped over her.

She woke up to find her pillow damp, her mouth dry, dots of moisture still glistening on her eyelashes. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror and tried to make sense of it.

She remembered those first weeks at Avengers Tower, after Tony persuaded them all to move in. She remembered lying in bed with her eyes closed, pretending she was asleep. Hearing Steve and Sam whisper “I love you”s to each other in the dark of night, sealing it with gentle touches and even gentler kisses and sometimes more. They had never — not during the night and not during the day — ever said anything like that to her or about her. Never looked at her the way they had looked at each other.

When had that changed? Had that changed? Maybe they felt guilty for what happened to her, for not being there with her when she needed them.

But more importantly, why did it matter? If they loved her or didn’t love her, if they wanted her as a friend, if they didn’t want her as a friend …

“Love is for children,” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror, grasping on to the mantra the Red Room had taught her, over and over again. “Love is for children, love is for children, love is for children …”

She sank down to the floor, her fist pressed against her mouth, reminding herself that she was never meant to be loved.

•••

The nightmares started soon after the Wakandan doctors weaned her off the pain pills. She was doing much better, in some respects. She could walk on her leg almost normally, and she was even able to train a little. She couldn’t spar yet, but she also wasn’t confined to sitting down for a majority of the day either.

Bucky, Sam and Steve all seemed to trade off the times they spent with her. Steve liked to walk with her around the grounds. Sam helped her once again with physical therapy. Bucky would bring his lunch and sit next to her as she read, occasionally giving her anecdotes about his life with Steve.

She really wasn’t sure what any of them were doing. Sam didn’t bring up the conversation they had, when he told her they loved her, and neither did the other two. Bucky didn’t even try to convince her that they cared about her. They just acted like everything was completely normal, and in some ways, it became that.

She began to join them for dinner, began hanging out with them after dinner. Night caps and movies and just lying around telling stories.

No one mentioned that this couldn’t go on forever, that they were going to have to decide on a life to have. Fugitives, not fugitives. What would happen the next time someone — or something — attacked. What would happen between all of them when it came.

But she couldn’t forget for too long that they were all together and she wasn’t a part of them. The way they moved closer together under the blankets when they watched movies. The way they snuck kisses when they thought she wasn’t looking.

“Love is for children,” she whispered to herself, every morning and every night, and she knew she was being stubborn — just like Bucky had accused her of being — but she couldn’t help it. They needed more than she could give them — that much she was sure of — and it was unfair of her to expect them to give her something she couldn’t return.

She wasn’t made to be in relationships. She had accepted that a long time ago. She just didn’t completely understand why it was so hard to deal with it now.

She excused herself to bed early one night, when she noticed the men being particularly handsy as they played an intense game of Risk. She wasn’t even sure they saw her leave.

She got into bed and tried to focus on her book, but all she could think about were Steve and Sam and Bucky.

She saw all four of them in a bedroom, much like the one she was in, except it was whiter. Blinding white almost.

They were all lying in bed, stretched out side by side, nestled into huge white pillows.

The door across from them opened.

“Natalia,” came a voice she couldn’t see, but she knew it well. She shot straight up, her heart pounding in her chest. “You have disobeyed our orders.”

A face came into the light.

Madame B.

Natasha felt her breath catch in her throat.

“No,” she tried to say. “I’ve done everything you asked!”

“Love is for children, Natalia,” Madame B. said. “You must be punished.”

“No!” she whispered, but it didn’t matter. She was being lifted, by a force she couldn’t see, placed on her knees before Madame B.

She stared down at her bare legs, her bare chest, her bare torso.

She turned her head. The men were still clothed, but they had rolled over on top of each other, fingers carding through hair, mouths finding lips and tongues. They didn’t even notice she wasn’t there.

“You must be punished, Natalia,” Madame B. repeated, and Natasha turned back to her. She tried to get to her feet, but she couldn’t move.

The door opened again. Heavy footsteps. Hard breathing.

She screamed.

Her captors, the ones who took her from Kiev, grabbed her arms, began to pull her. One of them — the heavyset one with whiskey on his breath — reached out, grabbed her breast, began to tug on her nipple.

She screamed, tried to fight, but they wouldn’t let go. Their hands were everywhere — on her breasts, on her legs, _between_ her legs.

She screamed. Tried to kick. Tried to punch.

But they didn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

She screamed again.

And again.

And again.

And …

“Natasha! Natasha!”

Steve’s voice. Somewhere in the distance.

She screamed again, tried to yank herself out of the grip the men had on her.

“Natasha! Natasha! Wake up! Wake up!”

Her eyes flew open, a scream caught in her throat.

Arms were around her. Holding her.

Steve.

Steve’s arms were around her. She was pressed against him. 

She sagged, closed her eyes again.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

Steve didn’t let go of her. Instead he shifted. Kept one arm around her lower back, the other rubbing small circles on the upper part.

She clung to him, her fingers clutching on to the sweatshirt he was wearing, her head in that spot just below his shoulder. She could feel herself shaking, could feel tears she didn’t want pooling in her eyes. And then she was gasping, chocking on sobs she was trying to push back.

She could still see the men behind her eyelids. 

A dream. A memory. She wasn’t sure.

She gripped on to Steve tighter even as she felt him start to rock her. And then came a dip on the bed, and another hand running through her hair, stroking her neck.

“We’ve got you, we’ve got you, you’re safe now,” she heard Sam murmur.

Another dip on the bed. The tickle of a blanket against her head and her hands and her legs. Then another hand, just above her knee. Not stroking, just there. Comforting.

She squeezed her eyes shut, even as sobs she had no control over wracked her body and she struggled to breath, but none of the hands moved, no one walked away. They stayed with her, all three of them, and held her as she cried.

•••

Steve was still holding her when she woke up. Sam was still stroking her hair. Bucky was holding her feet, gently rubbing small circles into her calf with his metal arm. They had shifted her a little. Her head was in Sam’s lap, nestled on his thigh. The main part of her body was over Steve, and her legs were in Bucky’s lap. The three of them sat side by side against the headboard of her bed while she lay across them all, still covered by the thick blanket Bucky had used to cover her before.

Steve noticed her awake first.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You feeling better?”

She struggled to sit up. Steve slipped an arm around her to help her, but she was now completely in his lap. She pushed herself off him as gracefully as she could, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room — her hair mussed and tangled, her face tear streaked, her clothes wrinkled.

She slid off the bed, turning away from the three of them, before she answered.

“Fine, thanks.”

“Nat,” Steve started, but he trailed off before he said more.

“We all have nightmares,” Bucky said.

“I’m fine.”

“If you want us to stay,” Sam started.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

She crossed her arms and headed across the room to the bathroom. She could feel their eyes on her, even after she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. She stood there, just inside the door, for what felt like hours until she finally heard the sounds of them getting up, heading out, shutting the door behind them.

She took a breath, studied herself in the mirror and then sank to the bathroom floor. Part of her wanted to call them back, part of her wanted to go with them. But she couldn’t. She shouldn’t.

The voice in her head.

“Love is for children, Natalia. You are not a child.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth and tried once more not to let herself cry.

•••

She was tired. So tired. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept. Maybe when the guys had found her after her nightmare. Three days ago. Four days ago. She had lost count.

She didn’t want to do this, but she was so tired. So incredibly tired.

She waited until she knew they were in bed, until she thought they would be asleep, before slipping out of her room and making her way quietly down the hall. She knew they all slept in Steve’s room. She had seen them go in there almost every night since the doctors had let her out of bed.

It was easy to sneak in. A quick pick of the lock and the door was sliding open effortlessly. The room was dark, filled only with the sound of quiet snores.

Perfect.

Natasha made her away across the room, stopping for a second at the foot of the bed. A ray of moonlight fell across the three men lying there — Steve on one side, Bucky’s arm slung around his waist and his face pressed against his shoulder. On Bucky’s other side, Sam lay sprawled out, but their hands were entwined.

For a split second, Natasha felt a sharp pain in her heart, and then she noticed something. 

Steve was awake. And watching her.

She froze, something she almost never did. Ashamed, something she almost never was. She stared at him, and she wondered if he could see the horror and the guilt in her eyes.

His face broke into a soft smile. He didn’t say a word but he pushed down the blankets next to him.

She felt a rush of relief flood through her. She crept over to the bed, crawled in beside Steve, scooted around until she was comfortable.

She was right next to him. She could feel the heat of his body through the leggings and the long tank top she was wearing.

Steve turned his head, kissed her gently on the forehead, and Natasha sighed again.

She was so tired …

“Go to sleep, Nat,” Steve whispered as the sounds of Bucky and Sam in slumber echoed around him. “I’ll be right here.”

She closed her eyes, too tired to argue or talk or even say thank you.

•••

Natasha woke up in the same position she fell asleep in — tucked against Steve with his arm around her. She took a few seconds before making any movement to take in her surroundings. She could hear the quiet murmurs of Steve and Sam, whispering to each other in low tones, but she couldn’t hear any sign of Bucky in the room.

She opened her eyes.

It was almost like Steve and Sam had a sixth sense that she was awake. Both of their heads turned to look at her. Both their faces carved into matching smiles — warm, comforting, caring.

“Where’s Bucky?” she said. The bathroom door was wide open; he wasn’t in there either.

“We wanted to talk to you,” Steve said. He glanced at Sam and then back at her. “Alone.”

“Oh.” Something twisted inside her. She pushed herself out of Steve’s arm and into a sitting position, but he didn’t move his arm from behind her.

“It’s nothing bad,” Steve said quickly as he watched her. “It’s just …”

“We wanted to apologize,” Sam said.

She studied them for a second. “What?” she said. That didn’t make sense. What would they need to apologize for?

“For what happened with Bucky,” Steve said. His smile had disappeared. Now he was looking at her the way he looked at her when he was calling a team meeting, ready to deliver bad news to the Avengers.

“I don’t understand.”

Steve took a deep breath. He looked like he was bracing himself. He looked at Sam, who nodded just slightly at him.

Steve started talking. “Before,” he said, “it was just the three of us. You, me and Sam, right?”

Natasha nodded.

“You know we loved you even back then,” Sam said.

She didn’t answer.

“We did,” Steve said. “We were happy.”

“Very happy,” Sam cut in.

“And then everything happened,” Steve said. He lowered his gaze away from her and took another inhale. “And you were gone. We looked for you. At first. We did.” He glanced at Sam.

“We should have looked harder,” Sam said.

“And then Bucky came out of cryo,” Steve said, “and he was there and …” He squared his shoulders. “I love him. I always have.”

“I know,” Natasha said.

“And he was there, and I didn’t think.”

“ _We_ didn’t think,” Sam said.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Steve said. “Just one day, it was the three of us — me, Bucky, Sam …”

“But it shouldn’t have been,” Sam said.

“It shouldn’t have,” Steve echoed. He lifted a hand, like he wanted to reach out to her, but instead he dropped it back by his side. Natasha saw his fingers curl.

“You were there first,” Steve said, “And we love you. And we want you. And we never should have … not without asking you if it was okay, if you wanted it, too.”

He stopped. Steve was looking her. Sam was looking at her. Both of them waiting, but she still didn’t know what they were trying to say. 

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“We don’t want to not be with you, Nat,” Sam said softly. “We love you. We want to be with you.”

“But Bucky …”

“We want to be with both of you,” Steve said. “If it’s okay with you.”

“You want …” Natasha frowned, trying to make sense of everything. She had seen the three of them together, seen the way they had looked at each other, but yet … “You want the four of us to be in a relationship?”

“Basically,” Sam said. Steve nodded.

“But I’m not …” She frowned more. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t need to do anything but be you, Nat,” Steve said. “We love _you_.”

She stared at them, still trying to put the pieces together. They still wanted her. They still wanted to be with her. They still loved her.

They loved her.

She loved them.

It hit her like a thud.

She loved them.

She loved Steve. And she loved Sam.

She didn’t love Bucky. Not yet. But she did like him. And she could grow to love him. She knew that. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that.

She felt something sting the back of her eyes. She tried to smile, but her mouth wasn’t working as well as it should. 

“I missed you,” she finally managed, but she didn’t stop the waver in her voice.

It didn’t seem to matter.

Steve leaned over, slipped a hand through her curls, cupped the back of her head. Then he was pulling her in, pressing his lips to hers and it was like time lost all meaning. Gone were the last few months — being away from them, being held captive, watching them have something without her.

She felt almost like she had come home, or what she imagined that would feel like.

And then the bed below them shifted and another hand was sliding up her arm, past her shoulder, fingers coming to a gentle stop against her cheek. And then she was being tugged away from Steve to meet Sam’s kiss and this one was more tender than Steve’s, more gentle.

She sighed happily into Sam’s mouth, and then she felt Steve’s warm, big hand sliding down her side, fingers slipping underneath her tank top, and she pulled back, breaking the kiss, her own hand stopping Steve’s from venturing any further.

“No,” she gasped, and instantly she saw both their faces flood with confusion, but she knew what they needed to do.

“Get Bucky,” she clarified. “I want to do this right.”

They both grinned at her, and she could have sworn their eyes sparkled.

“Be right back,” Sam said, almost leaping off the bed. At the door, he paused, “Just don’t finish before we get back.”

Then he was gone and Steve had cupped her face in both hands and leaned in to kiss her again. She let him push her back so she was lying below him on the bed, their kisses rapidly growing more urgent and deeper.

She opened her mouth to breath in deeper, and Steve slipped his tongue into her mouth. She ran her fingers down his back, dipping them below the tank top he was wearing, feeling his hard abs and toned muscles beneath her touch.

Steve broke the kiss, then grinned at her, in that cocky way he had when he knew he had her just where he wanted her, and then he was leaning down to nip at her ear, under her jaw, her pulse point, her clavicle, mouthing at her breast as he made his way down her body, and all she could do was throw her head back and sigh.

It had been so long, and she could already feel her arousal, could feel the heat beginning to gather, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Oh, but wait. He was touching her now, his warm hands once more sliding under her tank top, cupping her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over her nipples.

She moaned, the sound escaping from her almost unwittingly.

“I’ve missed you,” Steve said softly, before capturing her mouth again. She pushed against him, to sit up a little. Steve broke the kiss for a few seconds to tug her top over her head, and then she was laying down again as his fingers kneaded her breasts, pinching her nipples and causing her to buck her hips against him. She could already feel his erection beneath his clothes, and she moaned again, wrapping her arms around his back.

His hands dropped away from her breasts, sliding down her belly, their kisses never slowing. She felt him hook his fingers in the waistband of her leggings. She lifted her hips, and he slid the garment over her ass and partway down her thighs.

“Steve,” she moaned into his mouth.

His fingers danced over the material of her panties, pressing against her center, rubbing her softly. She felt a whimper escape her mouth, and almost missed the sound of the door opening and two pairs of feet entering.

“Let me help,” she heard Sam murmur, and then Steve was pulling away from her mouth, only to be replaced a beat later by Sam. She melted into his mouth, as Sam’s fingers slipped into her hair, massaging her head as he kissed her, nipping gently at her lips and tasting her entire mouth.

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Bucky helping Sam and Steve to undress, tugging off shirts and pulling sweats down over her hips.

Steve’s fingers were still between her legs, dancing over her, and she rocked her hips to try and get him to hurry up.

Sam’s hand dropped to her breast, to play with her, and finally, finally, she felt Steve, and maybe Bucky too, tug her leggings completely off her before pulling her panties off as well. She felt strong hands spreading her legs, and she looked over Sam to see the top of blond hair before the head dipped and she felt the beautiful sensation of lips latching around her clit, fingers back to rubbing up and down her slit.

She moaned into Sam’s mouth and tried to buck her hips, but someone else — Bucky, she realized — was holding her in place, the cool metal of his one arm firmly on her pelvis and the other holding her right leg wide.

Steve’s tongue was dancing over all of her, it seemed, and she arched up as much as she was able, letting out a soft cry when she felt a thick finger finally slide inside her.

And then the movement stopped. All movement. She opened her eyes, ready to protest, only to see Bucky peering down at her over Sam.

“Is it okay,” he started, almost tentatively, “if I touch you?”

She would have laughed if she wasn’t so amped up. Instead she blurted, “Yes. Please,” almost desperate to start everything up again.

Sam returned to kissing her, Steve slipped a second finger inside her before picking up speed and Bucky — ohhhh, Bucky — moved his metal hand southward on her belly and then a cold metal finger was pressed firmly against her hot, sensitive clit and she keened into Sam’s mouth.

It didn’t take long — all the sensations, all the pleasure, the fact that it had been so, so long — and she was coming in an embarrassingly short time.

But they didn’t stop. She felt Steve add a third digit, felt Bucky press harder against her, felt Sam tweak her nipples while his kisses seemed to get even more greedy. She tried to move, tried to speak, but she couldn’t.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

She gripped the sheets below her and screamed, her cry muffled by Sam’s mouth, as her muscles clenched around Steve’s fingers and her clit throbbed and her body shuddered, stars exploding behind her eyes as pleasure washed over her, almost overwhelming in its intensity, until she was left, gasping for her air, her body still shaking, as the three men looking almost adoringly down at her.

Steve’s fingers were still barely inside her, but she whimpered, trying to reach for him to push him away.

“You go,” she finally managed, and she watched with half-lidded eyes as the men turned to each other with smiles.

Bucky and Steve came together, mouths joined, and Sam pressed himself against Bucky, his hand going around the other man to take hold of his cock, beginning to stroke it as soon as he latched on.

Natasha was so tired, so completely satiated, but the sight of them, all naked and beautiful and wrapped together, and she was reaching for her own clit again, her mouth already dry from anticipation.

The rest of the morning passed almost in a blur. A blur of pleasure and bliss and need. So much need. They took turns. Everyone together and separate, part of it and watching it. And then at the end, all of them together.

She was riding Steve, her legs like jelly but the arousal curling in her belly as strong as it ever was. Steve had her by the hips, helping her to move. Bucky was behind her, sitting over Steve’s legs, his cock in her ass, and she almost cried at how full she felt, both of them inside her, their dicks throbbing. Bucky’s arms were around her, his metal one rough on her sore nipples and she chocked back a sob each time he squeezed. Sam was behind Bucky, his cock deep in Bucky’s ass, his chest pressed to Bucky’s back, and he was reaching, around Bucky, around her, to press his finger against Natasha’s clit.

And she couldn’t take it. Could barely think. Just moving as best she could toward the ending she so desperately needed.

She could hear herself whining, could hear the grunts and the moans of the three men around her, everyone sweaty and exhausted but so, so close.

The room around her was swirling, her mind barely able to concentrate. Dicks moved inside her, fingers pressing against her clit and pinching her nipples and she needed to go, faster and faster and faster until …

Bucky came first, loud and hard and she felt his release inside her just a moment before she cried out, her voice a hoarse scream as she clenched around Steve, barely hanging on as she felt Steve’s thrusts get faster and faster and harder and harder …

And she screamed again as Sam pinched her already oversensitive clit, and then finally, Steve was coming inside her and then an agonizingly long minute later and Sam was coming too, inside Bucky, and then they were all collapsing forward, on to Steve, who held on to them all like they were his lifeline.

Like they were each other’s lifeline.

It was the last coherent thought Natasha had before she let sleep overtake her.

•••

They spent the afternoon cuddled on a couch together in one of the palace’s many rec rooms, all of them too sleepy and too content to do anything more.

T’Challa found them just before dinner.

“I have news,” he said. “Twenty minutes. You will all want to hear this.”

They nodded at him. A rare smile broke over his face.

“This,” he said, pointing at them. “Finally. This is right. Twenty minutes though.”

He turned to leave. None of the rest of them made a move to get up. They did have twenty minutes, after all.

“I think he’s right,” Steve said after a moment. “This is right.”

Bucky and Sam both gave murmurs of assent. Natasha wiggled closer to Steve, her head on his shoulder, Sam beside her, Bucky beside him.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, and she wasn’t even sure if the others could hear her, but it didn’t matter. “This is finally right.”


End file.
